Pieces
by Queen of Corners
Summary: Orga/Kudelia —this time the cracks are too far gone to be glued together.


Orga thinks that she understates her worth, sometimes.

With her feet planted firmly on the ground and her head as high in the clouds as ever could be, she's torn asunder by her dreams and her reality, torn between the uphill battle against the proverbial gods and a peaceful life she longs for enough to lead a war with no end in sight.

He sees the strain in the way she stands, in the way she walks. To most, it's invisible, for even at her worst, Kudelia is shining like a brilliant star in the darkest of nights, with courage and determination and persistence that fit well with the title she's earned for herself. She is the epitome of strength and endurance, peace and perseverance, but she never allows it to cloud her judgement. In the face of that, Orga can only observe from a distance, follow in her steps, but never reach no matter how hard he tries.

For a long time, he thinks that the burden she carries is as obvious to everyone as it is to him. Her posture remains grand and her gestures gracious, but he sees through the cracks and he watches them spread while the others just wait for her to fall.

He doesn't blame them. As the figurehead that she has become, Kudelia is a dangerous chess piece, nearly impossible to shake and unreachable by any physical means. Gjallarhorn had failed, Dawn Horizon had failed, Rustal had failed. They all now burn in hell.

Orga doesn't remember it all too well, the day he decided that her life was worth enough to put everything on the line. When her dream became a justification, _excuse_ , for his actions. It is muddled with hundreds of other events that had taken place over time, and he realizes that the decision had never been conscious in his mind. She used to be like every other human—not a meat shield, not somebody to hand over to a corrupted police force on the off chance they may leave them alone.

Not someone whose voice can be ignored.

The gamble paid off in numerous ways, such a long time afterwards, that Kudelia Aina Bernstain could be cited as the most prominent reason that Tekkadan exists the way it does. None of it would have happened without her and it takes Orga a long time to truly appreciate the significance of her actions. She has kept them from going off the rails multiple times and by the time he understands, it's too late. The cracks are too far gone to be glued together.

He's expecting somebody to abuse it, he's expecting somebody to place several bullets in her chest—many are just waiting for the opportunity anyway—and he dreads the day when Tekkadan suddenly becomes insufficient to fend off the forces that want her out of this world.

It's far too late by the time he realizes that the cracks he sees are visible only to him, and maybe it is because he's always looking at her back, never outright facing her, it takes him so long to realize that the weight she carries is so dangerously similar to his own. He doesn't know how to act on it, so he never does.

Perhaps it is poetic justice, then, that the day her cracks give in is also the day when Orga's victory is stolen right from under his nose. For once his gamble fails and in a single night they lose what's most precious to them, and suddenly there is nothing left. Two empty shells of two human beings, devoid of any will or faith or goal or life. The pain itself is unbearable, but in an ungodly alliance the two of them had unintentionally made, therein lies purpose and means and hope and it is all within reach, if only they can take that final step.

Orga reaches out first, in a gesture of comfort that might have tried to console her broken heart or perhaps use her to mend his own—he doesn't know. Doesn't care. It's the pain in her eyes that gives him reason to hold on, just for a little longer, and it is the tear on her cheek reminding him of everything they had been through to get his far.

Could they really let it end here, after everything they'd done?

In a way that had over time become their custom, Kudelia gives what it takes. This time she gives a reason, purpose, a silent promise of a better tomorrow and a worthwhile today, and Orga strives to create. Kudelia imagines—he realizes. Or perhaps saying that she does both is more appropriate. Orga is merely a helping hand, assisting the master chef in their field of expertise. Crucial, but not irreplaceable. He is a means to an end and he was shortsighted to think of himself as anything more.

On that night, Orga makes a promise. A promise that has always been in the back of his mind, always nagging but never once spoken of, never expressed. He looks her in the eyes and he swears it—he puts everything on the line, one last time, but now there are no stopovers. There are no ladders, no defined steps to speak of. There's no time to worry about whether he's aiming too high to reach.

And it works, for it gives her strength and it gives her comfort and maybe they're just bent and not completely broken, maybe there is still a way for them leave something worthwhile in a world that strives to forget they ever existed. Because they're still alive and there is still a battle to be fought and maybe there is still time for repentance, still time for improvement. So Orga reaches out and grasps onto everything within reach to buy them just one more second, just one final stand.

Afterwards, he makes that promise every night. Even when he's sitting all alone in a deserted office, focusing on the recent financial reports that make him question the point of everything he's done up to now. Even when he's out on a Mobile Worker, taking in the bloody sight of a battlefield on a planet so far that he thinks he might've been better off having stopped back when it was still possible. Even when he tangles his fingers in her hair, his mouth swallowing her quiet moans in the dead of the night, wishing that he could make a single moment into an eternity.

Even many years later, when the need for urgent and dangerous gambles declines, and he's happy to just go to this alien place she now calls home, and marvel at its calm and comfort, warmth and welcome.

It's only when he visits Mika's grave that he ever says it out loud for the world to hear, for that's the only place where it needs to be said. Anywhere else, it is already a given.

"I've found my place, Mika. I'm going to protect it no matter what the cost."

For the spilled blood of his comrades has always had a greater purpose. For their names to be glorified rather than detested, avenged rather than forgotten. For the smile on her face is worth every hardship that he's ever faced, for there was never a single moment where she wasn't a part of his family. It is only that the time has come for him to step up his game, to aim for it all and not just the pieces he thinks he deserves to get.

One battle may have been won, but he's waging a war, and the next time he sees Mika will only be after he's won it all—and he won't be coming alone.


End file.
